Page 21 of Romancing the Scot
He sighed in resignation. The ball was a family tradition, and he’d once again do what he must. He called for his man.
The secretary appeared, spectacles in hand. “Yes, m’lord?”
“The list is fine. Send the invitations.”
As he was about to hand off the paper, however, a name on the list caught his attention.
Melfort.
He paused, a flash of temper heating his face.
“Wait.” He stabbed the list with his finger. “Why is this name included?”
The young man stared at the paper in confusion. “I’m sorry, m’lord. Sir John Melfort has recently purchased Highfield Hall. He and Lady Melfort are currently in residence. I assumed that you’d wish to include them.”
“You assumed incorrectly,” Hugh said sharply. He reined in his temper, realizing that his secretary had no knowledge of the history between the Penningtons and the Melforts. “Take them off.”
“Of course. Immediately.” The young man took the list, eager to escape the room.
Hugh called to him as he reached the door. “Wait. Has my sister seen the guest list?”
“No, m’lord. Lady Jo has been too busy. She requested that you approve the invitations.”
“Good. Keep it that way. And don’t mention any of this to her.”
Jo hadn’t seen Melfort’s brother Wynne in fifteen years, and the last thing Hugh wanted was to hurt her by reopening old wounds.
No, the Melforts were not invited at Baronsford. Not this month. Not ever.
Chapter 7
“If I was the baby Moses floating down the river in a basket, there’d be no better place to wash ashore than here. Indeed, a lass could do far worse than to leave her bairn at our door.”
Anna shook open a drying cloth and held it out. Grace stepped from the tub that had been set up for her in the bedchamber in front of the fire, and the maid draped the towel around her shoulders.
“If I were a gossipy woman, I could tell you some stories,” Anna continued. “But I’ll just say, if a body was in trouble and needed help, Baronsford would be the place for him. Why, I remember this one time, about ten years ago . . .”
Grace had no need to encourage her with questions. The plump and affable woman liked to talk. Anna’s parents had both been in service here, and it was clear that in her view, Baronsford was paradise on earth. She and her family had always been treated well—“same as everyone belonging to the place”—and she proudly sang the family’s praises.
Between the pitchers of warm water poured over her head, Grace had learned the histories of all five Pennington siblings. She was also told of the earl and his wife, Lord and Lady Aytoun, who spent most of the year at their country estate in Hertfordshire and their town house in London. Though she’d never seen either place, Anna was certain they were the “grandest houses that side of Hadrian’s Wall.”
But the most alarming news had come from the maid’s cheerful revelation that the eldest son was the “most respected judge in Scotland.”
Ajudge.Grace shivered, cursing her luck. Viscount Greysteil—the man who had introduced himself simply as Hugh Pennington—was not only a peer of the English realm but also Lord Justice of the Commissary Court in Edinburgh.
Malchance!Of all the crates in that warehouse, why did she have to climb into the one being sent to a British judge?
“Respected and feared, he is. And he’s much talked about, and written about too,” Anna crowed. “His lordship’s mother, Lady Aytoun, keeps a folio album chock-full with writings about his law doings in the upstairs library. Bulging, it is.”
Here in Scotland, Grace wondered, would a daughter be punished for the treason of her father or grandfather? As an Irish patriot, Daniel Ware never accepted that he was a subject of the English king, and she’d go to her grave defending his name.
But she didn’t want to think about any of that now. She’d survived Antwerp and the crossing to Britain. No one was accusing her of anything. They had no reason to. She’d done nothing wrong.
“The fire is warm and it’s a bonny day out, but you’re sure to take ill again, standing about like that.” Anna draped two more towels around her.
Dr. Namby was quite progressive regarding the benefits of hot and cold water in the treatment of fevers, and Grace had been washed regularly with sponges soaked in rose and lavender-scented water as she lay in her sickbed. Still, she’d asked for this bath. She needed to immerse herself, hoping to eradicate the ship’s odor that continued to fill her senses. Shivering again, though not from the cold, she pulled the towels tighter around herself and sat on a straight chair. She wondered if she would ever truly recover from the nightmare she’d been through.
“The best of it, mistress,” Anna went on cheerfully as she patted dry Grace’s hair, “is in about a fortnight you’ll have the chance to meet the rest of the Penningtons. What with everyone growing older and going off to find their own way, the summer ball at end of June and the Christmas assembly are the only times that we can be sure of the entire family gathering at Baronsford.”
